


In Breaking You Are Found

by samtheboyking



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Samifer Week 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2502314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samtheboyking/pseuds/samtheboyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer learning to reconcile that he is no longer, mostly angel, is a long and trying process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Breaking You Are Found

“Gorgeous.”

Lucifer looks away— off to the side so that he can’t see Sam’s head dip lower as he whispers praise into Lucifer’s skin—his jaw, his shoulder, his chest—pressing the words from his lips into the archangel’s body like a brand.

“Beautiful.”

He _isn’t_. Not anymore.

The Cage does not make you gorgeous, beautiful. It has mutilated him, rendered him a mockery of what he used to be and how bright he shone, in all his glory.

Feathers of wings he refuses to reveal are fraying, sloughed from his being in the worst betrayal, as if he no longer bears the right to hold the title _angel_. There is nothing angelic, nothing dignified in having the fibers of your existence unraveled, in having your grace snuffed out into a flickering, pathetic remnant of the power you used to embody. With his pride lost there is only so much for Lucifer to grasp at, clinging to soft reassurances that don’t sound right to his ears, attentiveness he is still apt to shy away from, and the patience he does not think he deserves, and never required before his emergence from the Cage.

The Cage will change you, and this is why he can trust Sam; _only_ Sam. Sam can understand, even if Lucifer cannot fully comprehend why he now allows himself to, when he once treated the idea that Lucifer was someone to be trusted with the utmost abhorrence and denial.

Now, Sam is filling his space, bleeding into the cracks, emptying into them with his own light— still the brightest that Lucifer has ever seen.

“Luce?”

He finally turns his head back to catch Sam’s eyes, and he doesn’t understand the concern that’s fallen over his face.

“Your breathing, it’s…”

Lucifer isn’t sure how long he’s been shaking. “Oh.” The next inhale shudders in his chest, and he wills the broken, fractured body he inhabits to relax. His eyes fix on where Sam is seated between his legs, hands stayed in their southward traveling and taking up a gentle grip at his hips instead.

“We can stop, if you want.”

Always _we_. A joint effort. Always a choice. Their mutual understanding.

“No. It is…I’m okay.” Lucifer thinks that’s what people say in such situations, despite whatever strange, rolling sensation they may feel in the pit of their stomach. It’s what he’s said dozens of times prior, whenever he finds himself here in Sam’s bed, laid out and exposed in varying degrees of vulnerability.

Three weeks— following his arrival at the Bunker. Three weeks for him to merely convince Sam of facts, for Sam to listen and consider him not as the catalyst to his pain but a shared effect. Three weeks for Sam to trust him enough to let his guard down. It was all Lucifer was asking for.

Two more for Sam to come to him for comfort, seek out solace in a place as broken as himself. Lucifer was more than willing to lend him that, quiet moments of understanding that transcended the need for words, small touches of reassurance that Sam no longer flinched from as if burned but craved, drawn in towards Lucifer with a magnetic pull.

Another seventeen days for Sam to begin touching him back— and that’s when things changed. Being on the receiving end of such attention, it turns out, is an entirely different dynamic than being the one to do the touching. Perhaps before ripping himself from the Cage, Lucifer would have been more receptive, overjoyed, even, at the notion that Sam would want to touch him. It is in fact, what he has always wanted, the goal that he has always driven himself towards; their undeniable destiny.

This was never part of the design; his failing grace, wings he is ashamed to manifest, and without any of his former capability of an angel, the panicked feeling that accompanies the idea that his vessel alone is not enough to convey his unfathomable existence. This body is not his own, yet it has become the only means to express himself to Sam, and Lucifer has not yet grasped the entirety of his existence as more human than angel.

Sam’s mouth is back on him, marking a warm, unhurried trail up his chest, holding Lucifer’s attention and not allowing him to stray back into apprehensive territory. This, at least, he has gotten used to, has come to enjoy the way Sam’s mouth heats his flesh, the subtle possessiveness which lingers thereafter. He is good at keeping Lucifer occupied, good at calming the too-obvious rapid pace of his pulse, and good at heeding Lucifer’s words when he will eventually tell Sam to _stop_.

 _This_ is where he says stop.

Sam’s fingers are playing at the hem of his boxer-briefs, just teasing that line where the edge of fabric meets skin. He is no longer kissing, merely hovering, face level with Lucifer’s and watching, _waiting_ for that first sign of objection.

This is where he tells Sam no, as has been the pattern of the past two weeks. This is the furthest they’ve gotten, a process of peeling him apart layer by layer, Sam always following in suit, always leaving them as equals. It’s a process that has taken enough days that Lucifer has stopped bothering to count, and now at an impasse, it has left him feeling paralyzed with the surety that he can’t give what Sam is asking for.  

“Luce?” Sam’s fingers are still rubbing along the last line of defense he has.

But now he _can’t_ say no, not after stalling for so long. Not after letting that spark of hope light up Sam’s face, though Lucifer doubts Sam himself is aware of how he looks. He wants to give Sam everything.

“Yes.” Lucifer nods, voice remaining even, deceptively calm in the wake of feeling as though he’s being taken apart, revealed as nothing more now than a sad, broken thing to be discarded once found out.

Sam does not stop watching him, even as the last bit of clothing is tugged slowly down, past his legs and off the ends of his feet. Sam leans up, seated between Lucifer’s thighs, hands resting idly atop his knees, still watching. Lucifer is not sure _what_ he is supposed to feel.

“You’re—”

“ _Don’t_.”

Each inhale he takes draws tight in his chest. He is steeling himself for the disappointment. With the last piece of his façade now stripped there can be nothing left for Sam to see but that. He can no longer be the angel Sam was destined for, reduced to nothing more than this shell of a vessel he is imprisoned in, some arbitrary corporeal form that he has no attachment to, only threaded through with some flickering essence within that has him at odds against what he was supposed to be for Sam.

Always patient, ever observant, Sam waits. He slips off that last remaining piece of clothing, his own briefs discarded to the floor, leaving them as equals once more, nothing to see but long stretches of smooth skin, occasionally interrupted by a scar, lasting pieces of evidence of a long life lived too rough, a physical body put through more stress than should be possible to endure. Lucifer has never envied the weight upon Sam’s shoulders.

But Sam is unflinching, and Lucifer finally lets his gaze stray beyond his face. Broad shoulders are nothing new to his sight, nor are strong arms. Lucifer is well acquainted with the expanse of Sam’s chest, and likewise the ridges that make up Sam’s belly, familiarity only ending at the hard muscled curve that leads down to his cock, still soft and resting at his thigh where Sam has leaned back onto his legs. Lucifer takes in the new revealed angles, the prominent vee cut of Sam’s pelvis, and the taper of his waist that leads back out to firmer hips.

Lucifer’s gaze is calculated, appreciatively lingering, the distraction of having more of Sam to study keeping the threat of his erratic pulse at bay, stifling the need to cover himself at the thought that Sam can _see_ him. He shifts against the bed, propping himself up further on the pillows, and lets his hands relax their hold on the sheets. He nods. “You can look.”

A small, tentative smile curves on Sam’s mouth. Eyes skim over Lucifer’s body, starting from the top and not skipping an inch of the body the angel has tried to make a home in. Hands begin a slow, methodical stroke along Lucifer’s legs, until the taut pull of his muscles releases. Lucifer lets himself ease back into the mattress, lets Sam guide him into some illusion of security.

“I’m going to kiss you.”

Sam allows enough time to pass for Lucifer to process, prepare himself for when Sam is leaning down again, lined up and pressed against his body to bring their mouths together. It is slow, firm, as if all of the confidence Lucifer now lacks Sam can transfer from one being to another through the joining of their mouths. A hand splayed at the side of his neck coaxes Lucifer to part his lips, gives room for Sam’s tongue to slide in, warm and wet and sure with each small movement.

It’s distraction enough that Lucifer does not question the hand stroking along his side, skimming down far enough to graze gently along his hip, just a new sliver of skin for Sam to explore, press fingertips into until he has this piece of him committed to memory.

There’s a slow, lazy ebb and flow to the way Sam kisses him, drawing Lucifer’s mouth forward with a teasing promise, and then pressing back against the resistance, easing down into him until their bodies line up at every possible point. The air Lucifer draws in through his nose releases through his mouth, exchanged for the soft, fluid movement of Sam’s mouth working against his in a refusal to part.

It lasts— long enough that Lucifer does not immediately take notice of when Sam _does_ stop kissing him, mouth still only hovering an inch or so above, eyes flitting over his face in search of answers Lucifer is not sure he will be able to supply. Sam’s weight settled over him remains a comfortable shield, allows Lucifer to stall a little longer in reconciling the fact that this vessel, this body, will now serve a greater purpose to him.

But the contact is not unwelcome; not with Sam soothing him at every step and realizing Lucifer’s new limitations better than he can recognize them himself sometimes.

Sam brushes a hand back through Lucifer’s hair, regarding him with such fondness that Lucifer understands he doesn’t _need_ to say anything—descriptors, adjectives—not when Sam can lean their foreheads together, a silent, unshakeable worship that has solidified their bond beyond the precarious foundation it is has been built upon. He trusts Sam to lead _him_ , even now as he merely leans back and rolls off onto his side, grabs the corner of the covers, and tugs it over their bodies.

“Isn’t there…more?” Lucifer questions, leaning up onto his elbow and looking down to Sam resting at his side. The fact that Sam is still smiling is puzzling in and of itself— they stopped again, didn’t they? Sam must have read something off his face to judge that this was as far as he could take Lucifer.

“There is,” Sam agrees, and a warm, broad hand finds its way to Lucifer’s hip, aids in dragging the angel closer, encouraging Lucifer to lie down again. “When the time comes.”  

The answers still leaves Lucifer to crease his brows, a hint of desperation when says, “I want to give you everything.” Whatever it may be, whatever it takes from him.

“You will,” Sam assures, tone so unwavering that Lucifer has to believe him. Sam pulls him in, an arm securing around Lucifer’s back, thumb sweeping out across his shoulder blade. “When you want to say yes.”

It needs no further translation, and Lucifer sighs, settles with his face pushed into Sam’s neck, and contents himself with shutting his eyes to the feel of Sam enveloping him completely. 

**Author's Note:**

> For Samifer Week 2014. Thanks for reading~


End file.
